


Share A Coke With A Friend (maybe christmas aint soda-pressing after all)

by Rothecooldad



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Secret Santa, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, author abuses the use of christmas songs as a theme and theres nothing you can do about it, far too many christmas jokes metaphors and references than necessary, meet ugly, this is just ryans no good very bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 18:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16938195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothecooldad/pseuds/Rothecooldad
Summary: But there were times like this, times when the season took a turn and a normal day would snowball out of control until Ryan was sofed upwith all the goodwill and cheer, the glitter and the gold gleaming everywhere, that his heartdidfeel like it was two sizes too small.No, little Miss Cindy-Lou Who, youwon’tbe getting your tree back, and don’t eventhinkyou’ll be getting a taste of that roast beast. Fuck you.





	Share A Coke With A Friend (maybe christmas aint soda-pressing after all)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naturallyvicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naturallyvicious/gifts).



> disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are based upon the internet personalities portrayed by members of Achievement Hunter and in no way are meant to reflect the lives of the actual person or persons themselves.

_ Dashing through the snow… _

 

Ryan rolled his eyes. The tired old tune rang through the store for the second time that hour, the old speaker providing a tinny resonance that only served to grate on his nerves, no more pleasant than the first time around, but surely more tolerable than the third Ryan had no doubts would be playing again within the next half hour. He held back a groan, turning down the next aisle.

 

Jingle  _ hell.  _ That’s what he was in.

 

He wasn’t a grinch. He  _ wasn’t.  _ Hell, he’d been humming along to the radio on the way to work that morning, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in beat with the sweet melody of  _ White Christmas _ . Ryan had nothing against the holiday.

 

Usually.

 

But there were times like this, times when the season took a turn and a normal day would snowball out of control until Ryan was so  _ fed up  _ with all the goodwill and cheer, the glitter and the gold gleaming everywhere, that his heart  _ did  _ feel like it was two sizes too small.  _ No,  _ little Miss Cindy-Lou Who, you  _ won’t  _  be getting your tree back, and don’t even  _ think  _ you’ll be getting a taste of that roast beast. Fuck you. 

He didn’t  _ want  _  to be grumpy, but after the day he’d had, the bah humbug was planted firmly in his chest and it’d take a hell of a ghostly trio to spook him out of this mood.

 

Sure, things had started out fine. He’d even managed to finish his work early, meaning he was given the okay to get home and enjoy the rest of his evening, stress free. Right. God, he’d been so  _ naive.  _

 

Rather than the nice, relaxing night of video games at home that he’d planned -- had  _ counted on _ , in fact, because tech shit wasn’t easy at the best of times, and he’d just cracked a problem that had been fucking his whole team over for days, so, yeah, he deserved a damn break,  _ thanks --  _ he’d instead found himself parked along the road, somewhere between his office and his apartment, yet nowhere near either, car battery dead and phone battery ready to take its last shambling breath.

 

At that point, Ryan had already been ass deep in a shitty mood, and the walk to his apartment had only brought him down more. Might not have been a _white_ _Christmas_ , but it had been a fucking chilly one, and his thin jacket had done jackshit to keep him warm.

 

It’d taken him an extra two hours to finally,  _ finally,  _ reach his place. The heat of the lobby had hit him like a solid wall, and he had been thankful for it, his fingers regaining feeling almost painfully fast. 

 

And then he noticed the ‘Out Of Order’ sign taped to the elevator doors. Because that’s just what he’d needed. To walk up six flights of stairs after having just walked several miles to get home. But he'd trudged up them anyway, no other options exactly presenting themselves. For a brief, heart wrenching moment, Ryan had thought he’d left his keys in his car, and he was stood in the hallway, patting each of his pockets frantically until he had felt the hard outline behind denim. A small miracle, he’d supposed.

 

He’d all but thrown himself onto the couch, shucking off his shoes and melting into cushions under him, completely intent on napping the day away. A hope that had been quickly dashed by his growling stomach. 

 

Peeling himself regretfully from the couch, he had beelined to the kitchen to stuff his face with whatever he could find that he didn't have to actually prepare because fuck knows he didn't have the time or patience for a five course dinner for one. Unfortunately, the kitchen had turned out to be the biggest bearer of bad news that night.

 

He was out of Diet Coke. 

 

Usually not a big issue. Any other day, he'd just hop in the car and head out to the closest store, no problem. But as his car had been stuck miles away -- he'd remember to call a tow truck later, but that  _ clearly _ wasn't priority when there was a soda  _ crisis  _ at hand -- and his refrigerator had looked pathetically empty, he'd had two options.

 

Option one: He admitted defeat and braced himself for another trip in the cold, walking at least another mile until his legs completely gave out. Not exactly the most pleasant of plans, but effective in getting what he wanted. Or…

 

Option two: Face the rest of the night even sadder than before, without even a single can to call his own. It's not like he would have been able to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle of spiked eggnog. Diet Coke was really all he'd had in this world.

 

Option two was hardly an option at all. No, he would  _ not  _ go gently into that good night, and he  _ definitely wouldn’t  _ spend the rest of this waking nightmare day without the comfort of a cool drink in his hands. 

 

And that’s how he'd found himself there, exhausted and cold in the middle of a packed grocery store, the garish red and green decorations tossed so haphazardly around that it looked more like a holly jolly scene of a crime than an actual, real place that somebody could reasonably expect to purchase groceries.

 

The song changed again, the opening notes of  _ Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer  _ making Ryan’s stomach turn.

 

Red-Nosed bastard.

 

And he hadn’t even found the damn Diet Coke yet.

 

He pushed his cart through a puddle of suspiciously orange liquid, grimacing in disgust. His cart had a squeaky wheel, because  _ of course  _ it did. Santa was already dragging his sack all over Ryan’s day, why the fuck wouldn’t Ryan have a bullshit broken cart with it’s shitty squeaky wheels that were now  _ sticky- _

 

Ryan cut that thought off abruptly, his eyes landing on the sign hanging above aisle 8. Soft drinks.

 

_ Jackpot. _

 

Like a guiding star, Ryan didn't have a moment’s hesitation as he weaved his cart through the remaining shelves that stood between him and his prize, only barely managing not to topple anything over onto an unsuspecting shopper.  _ Whatever.  _ Casualties were always expected in a crisis. 

 

Reaching the Promised Land, Ryan was almost giddy with excitement, his gaze roaming along the shelves of soda hungrily, finally zeroing in on…

 

...the man that was currently holding the last carton of Diet Coke.

 

He quickly checked again, hoping he might have missed one hiding behind another box.  _ Desperately  _ hoping he missed one, because if not…

 

Because if not, that means that man really  _ was  _ holding Ryan’s last hope for this day to turn around in his hands. And that just wouldn’t do.

 

Despite his wishes, no Christmas miracle occured to save him, no wise men showed up to offer him frankincense and Diet Coke, and no hidden box magically materialized with the power of Christmas Spirit. Fuck.

 

There was a very brief moment where Ryan considered turning around and going home empty-handed, but the thought wasn’t even worth the consideration he gave. Like  _ fuck _ was Ryan going to turn tail and run without bringing home exactly what he came here to get. This man could go to absolute town on Ryan’s north pole, he was  _ going to hand over that damned box whether he liked it or not. _

 

Decision made, Ryan marched down the aisle, ready to give the man a piece of his mind, only to falter a little when the man looked up at him.

 

Those were  _ really  _ blue eyes.

 

“Uh, hi dude?” The man greeted, his dark brows scrunched together in a clear sign of confusion. 

 

Ryan opened his mouth, and closed it again, still staring into the man's impossibly clear eyes. Why did he come over again? Didn't seem that important, really, he thought, gaze drifting downward, following the trail of tattoos peeking out from the man's shirt. Some were intricately wound around his arms, while the others were simple pieces placed seemingly with no intent at all. The overall effect was stunning, and Ryan was having a seriously hard time focusing on anything but this man's arms.

 

The man cleared his throat pointedly, and Ryan flushed, dragging his eyes away from the tattoos until they landed on… The Diet Coke. Right.

 

“The, uh.” Ryan huffed. “Diet Coke.”

 

“Yeah?” A hint of annoyance colored the man's features, which, yeah, that's fair actually. Ryan  _ was  _ just creepily standing in front of him, silently and very obviously checking him out. Annoyance was a reasonable response, and honestly, Ryan's surprised the dude wasn't more pissed. Still, he was the only thing standing between Ryan and his soda, and attractive or not, he wasn't going to let that slide.

 

“It's the last case.” Ryan stated, hoping to convey just how important that was to him with just his tone.

 

_ Huh,  _ Ryan noted.  _ His mustache twitches when he's scowling. _

 

“Listen, buddy.” The man glared at Ryan as he very decisively slammed the carton into his cart. Ryan half expected it to bust open and spray everywhere with the force the man used, and he was silently thankful it didn't. That would have  _ really  _ taken the fruitcake on his shitty day. “I'm going to keep it real with you. Today has been a  _ spectacularly _ fucky as dicks day. You might be cute and all, but this Diet Coke here is the only thing that's bringing me any sort of joy in this cruel bitch of a world, and I'm not just going to hand it to you so you can just fuck right off.”

 

“But,” Ryan tried, mind reeling as he pieced together his thoughts after the man's tirade.  _ He thought Ryan was cute?  _ Maybe Ryan could just- No. He came here for the soda and by Santa's fat red ass, he was going to get it. 

 

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” the man said, ignoring Ryan entirely as he took a few steps forward, visibly struggling to get control of his cart. Seemed like Ryan wasn't the only one with shitty luck that day. He caught sight of the man's tired eyes, the bags underneath dark and deep, and Ryan felt a pang of sympathy in his chest.  _ Fuck it, _ Ryan could probably go with-

 

The man finally got the wheel unstuck,  only for the cart to go careening into the shelves, causing a few two litres to drop on top of the carton they'd been arguing over. Ryan couldn't even bother to pretend like he cared about that anymore. His focus was once again directed solely on the man, now in his arms from where Ryan stopped him from falling with the cart. 

 

He was frozen in place, eyes wide as his gaze dropped lower again, incapable of not following the same trail he had before. Only now there was a new mark, right under Ryan's hand, one that Ryan was  _ sure  _ hadn't been there before.

 

Oh.

 

_ Oh.  _

 

Stiffening in his arms, the man pulled free, and Ryan rushed to help him stand up right. The man's eyes followed Ryan's line of vision and gasped softly. His back straightened as he looked up, and Ryan felt breathless all over again.

 

“Do you think,” Ryan started, needing to clear his throat. He tried again. “Ya think maybe we could, uh, split it?” 

 

The man huffed in disbelief, humor and wonder shining on his face.

 

“Yeah, huh. Guess we probably could. Names Geoff, by the way.” He held out his hand, and Ryan took it, shaking it nervously.

 

“Ryan.” 

 

Geoff looked taken aback, and then grinned a beautiful thousand watt smile. Ryan's heart fluttered.

 

“Y'know, the bottle I had this morning told me I should share a Coke with Ryan.” His eyes shifted to where their hands were still interlocked, neither bothering to let go. Neither  _ wanting  _ to let go. 

 

Ryan stared at their hands, too. First, at Geoff's mark sitting nestled among his tattoos on his wrist, not looking out of place in the slightest. He forced his gaze to his own mark, the same as Geoff's in every way except it was placed on the heel of his hand, almost completely covered by Geoff's. Two identical Coca-Cola logos. Nothing could be more fitting, but man, the universe sure did have a sense of humor.

 

“Must be fate.” Ryan joked, laughing freely now. Geoff's eyes crinkled when he laughed, and Ryan was smitten already. 

 

He's going to have to invest in mistletoe this year, because  _ God _ , he wants to kiss this guy.

 

For the first time since the beginning of this whole strange interaction, Ryan stopped tuning out the music playing around them.

 

_ I don't want a lot for Christmas. There is just one thing I need... _

**Author's Note:**

> my legally obligated seasonally appropriate fic  
> hope you like it, cin!
> 
> come hmu @ [ tumblr ](https://jeremwood.tumblr.com)


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